


Let's Pretend We're Good At This

by unwinding_fantasy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (things will be resolved by the end i promise), Awkward Crush, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Bad Flirting, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, First Crush, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Humor, Idiots in Love, IgNoct, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Requited Love, Secret Crush, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, Teen Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-31 07:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwinding_fantasy/pseuds/unwinding_fantasy
Summary: Noct likes Ignis. Too bad Ignis is oblivious.





	1. In which the Lucis Caelum line comes to an abrupt end.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildcursive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcursive/gifts).



> Written as part of Ignoct White Day 2k18 for wildcursive! The request was for a getting together scenario with a happy ending. Hope I've hit the right notes!

“Prompto, what the _fuck?”_

Prompto’s grin is so wide it’s threatening to crack his face and send those freckles spinning through the air like shrapnel. “You like?” he drawls in a way that sounds more like _I know you love it so don’t bother lying._

No use denying it. Noct’s face is flaming hotter than Ifrit’s balls, the photo scorching his fingertips as the image sears into his brain. “What the fuck,” he deadpans. Even when he manages to rip his gaze away, blinking to clear his vision, the afterimage keeps crackling behind his eyelids.

Impossibly, Prompto’s smirk widens. “You lost your powers of sight there, buddy? Want me to spell it out for you in artistic detail?” The accompanying eyebrow waggle is practically enough to drive Noct into warp striking his so-called best friend into last week.

Noct does his level best to curb his violent instincts, instead shoving the picture back into Prompto’s hands. “Hell no!” he grates over Prompto’s indignant squawk. “You think this is funny? Ignis’ll kill me! He’ll slice and dice me and next Tuesday you’ll show up to a nice big bowl of peppery Noctis stew over rice.” Or beans. Ignis, whose infuriatingly handsome exterior belies a vindictive undercurrent normally only observed in sparring matches or card games, would probably serve him up with ten kinds of beans just for jollies.

Affronted, Prompto smooths out the snapshot. “Give me some credit, dude. A) Not funny. Fucking hilarious. And B) Just don’t let him find it.”

 _Flap flap flap_ goes the photo, which Prompto insists on waving in Noct’s face.

 _Wiggle wiggle wiggle_ go the two pale globes of Ignis Scientia’s ass, parading obscenely across the Prince’s vision.

Noct snatches back the picture before his advisor’s butt tickles a sneeze out of him. Prompto snickers some more. How did he even get this? Breaking and entering didn’t seem like his kind of deal. Squinting at the picture, Noct notes there are a couple of other steam-shrouded silhouettes in the background. Huh. Must’ve been taken at the gym. “Seriously,” Noct says, voice adopting a strange edge that is definitely not a whine, “I can’t keep this, this _thing_ in my apartment. Not unless I’ve got a death wish.”

“I’m gonna tell him you called his butt a thing.”

Noct groans, flopping back onto the couch and flinging an arm across his eyes. “Prom.”

A _whump_ and the couch sinks beside him. Through splayed fingers, Noct chances a sidelong glance. Prompto’s fiddling with his armband now, eyes flickering over Noct in rising apprehension. “Okay, look, maybe I screwed up. Honestly? I thought you’d like it. I mean, I kinda expected you to flip out a teensy bit but I thought you’d come around?” He scrubs his hand through his flyaway hair as his lips angle up in a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry for coughing up the shittiest birthday present on Eos.”

Noct drops his arm. Squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “It’s not.”

“Huh?”

“That bad. The photo, I mean.” All things considered, it’s a pretty decent photo. A pretty decent photo of his closest confidant’s ass cheeks. Holy Shiva on a motorcycle.

A tentative smile slides onto Prompto’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When Prompto leaves, Noct stashes the snapshot in a shoebox under his bed and tries not to think about it.

* * *

Trying not to think about it amounts to thinking about it approximately every single nanosecond of the next 24 hours. It also results in a Very Bad Haircut courtesy of Gladio’s greatsword. Noct knows this because he’s got a prime view of the myriad black slivers fluttering through the end-of-summer sky to land on his face, sprawled on his back as he is.

“Ugh,” he grunts around a mouthful of dust. He wipes away the severed strands of hair that have taken up residence across the bridge of his nose.

Gladio’s rugged features appear above him, blotting out the sun. You’d expect a guy to be shitting himself after almost decapitating his liege but Gladio just looks vaguely irritated. “The hell was that?” He fists the front of Noct’s tee and pulls him to his feet, which is as close to an apology as Noct expects from his Shield.

Batting Gladio’s hand away, Noct makes a concerted effort not to pout. “Just… trying to fight more fluid or something.”

Gladio snorts. “Or something’s right. Looked more like a bad impression of Iggy after one too many merlots.”

 _Wiggle wiggle wiggle._ Noct coughs, snatches his sword off the ground. “Yeah, right. Ignis doesn’t get drunk.”

“That so? Guess it was some other guy that invited me around for dinner last night and burned the steaks after he downed half a bottle of Altissian red.” Noct’s mouth drops open. “Yep, you heard right. He tried to pass it off by saying charcoal added to the flavour profile. Not one of his better bluffs.”

The thought of Ignis, loose limbed with a lazy smile and high flush on his cheeks, makes Noct’s stomach somersault. “Oh.”

Gladio stops wiping down his greatsword. Abruptly, he bends down until his nose is practically pressed against Noct’s, amber eyes narrowed suspiciously. Somehow, Noct holds ground against this invasion of personal body space but Ignis’ goddamn ass cheeks are centre stage in his brain and he can feel the treacherous blush creeping up his neck. Once, he’d watched this documentary about an alpha sabertusk that devoured its owner, the prince of some fabled land. That sabertusk probably would’ve looked exactly like Gladio does now, a truly monstrous grin cracking his craggy face. “Oh ho ho. You like that, huh, Prince Puberty?”

Noct sputters. _“What_ now?”

“You like the idea of Iggy under the influence. Or should I say, under _your_ influence.” Noct tries to protest but Gladio cuts him off: “Or is it the photo?”

Noct makes a strangled sound. Prompto knowing is one thing. Prompto’s sensitive enough that he won’t make Noct’s life a complete hellscape of suggestive comments and obvious hints whenever Ignis is within earshot. Gladio though… Well, there's the _slight_ possibility he's talking out of his ass and doesn’t know the details, Noct supposes.

Like he’s reading Noct’s mind, Gladio lifts his eyebrows and says, “So, did you enjoy it? I thought I did pretty well considering the crappy lighting and all that steam.”

Noct’s heart plummets to the vicinity of his royal edition boots. He dismisses the training blade and sits heavily on the ground, dust swirling around him as he draws his feet up until his chin’s tucked against his knees. The Wall, he thinks. Yeah, the Wall looks pretty nice today. Tall. Definitely tall enough that if he hurled himself off he’d join his ancestors and escape a lifetime of Gladio’s ceaseless teasing, if he didn’t chickatrice out and warp away before impact.

Now that he thinks about it, the photo was a little blurry, the – _subject matter_ – not quite framed properly. He’d chalked the imperfections up to Prompto having to snag the shot super fast. Gladio doing the dirty deed makes more sense. “You don’t even own a camera,” Noct mumbles into his kneecaps. Then, with dawning horror: “You planned this, didn’t you? You and him. You both conspired against me.”

Gladio’s laughter roars across the flat expanse of the training field, drawing the attention of a few glaives. Shameless. Utterly shameless. “In blondie’s defense, I didn’t tell him what kind of photo I was gonna take. And in my defense, I wasn’t planning on such a _candid_ ,” another leer, “shot. The opportunity presented itself, I took advantage.”

“This is so wrong on so many levels.”

Gladio folds his arms. “I’m doing you a favour. Figured we could save us all some pain and speed things up by showing you what you’re missing.”

“You mean by torturing me.” Ugh, exactly how long has Gladio known about this anyway?

“Self-inflicted, princess. You could end it all by telling him how you feel.”

Noct barks a laugh. “No thanks. I like my balls where they are.”

“You’d like ‘em better pushed up against—”

In a blink, Noct warps _this_ close to Gladio’s face. “Do you really wanna finish that sentence?” he hisses.

Gladio rolls his eyes at Noct’s death stare but he lifts his hands in surrender like he can tell Noct’s ego can’t take another hit. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. It was just a suggestion.” 

“Yeah, a lousy one.” Talk about his feelings? Yeah, sure, maybe when the sun doesn't rise. “Any more bright ideas, genius?” His tone is pure scorn but secretly he’s hoping for an answer. Gladio’s had enough girlfriends and casual flings that he must have some pro-tips buried beneath the bravado.

“Okay, how about this: invite him for a training session, get hot and heavy on the field. There’s a thin line between bloodlust and plain old lust, you know? Nothin’ like a fight to get your blood pumping.”

“That… sounds stupider than the time Prompto tried to dry polaroids in the microwave.”

“I’m not gonna ask. Honestly though, give it a shot. I’ve hooked up with a few people that way.”

Noct covertly studies Gladio. Ruggedly handsome, biceps for miles and a surprisingly boyish grin. With credentials like that, no wonder the fake sparring thing worked for him. “I’ll think about it.”

Gladio musses Noct’s hair as recompense for the stellar non-committal answer, darting out of the way of Noct’s retaliatory swipe. He lifts a hand in farewell after he swoops his greatsword over his shoulder, exiting the training area without a backwards glance. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.” 

* * *

 _I regret it deeply,_ Noct thinks, a spray of blood and enamel spiralling away courtesy of the pommel he cops to the face.

“Focus, Noct!” Ignis chides, springing back and reversing his grip in one smooth motion, all poised grace and impeccable precision. Even through the sting Noct has to admire his advisor’s form. The sheen of sweat across Ignis’ bared arms, the way his tank top strains over his chest, those elegant fingers fondling his blades…

“I am focusing!” Noct snips. Focusing, yeah. He doesn’t have to mention _what_ he’s focusing on.

Ignis sighs, slides out of his defensive stance. “Not hard enough. Let’s reschedule. It’s getting late and we still have to tidy your hair, not to mention your biology test next Monday.”

The concept of Ignis running his hands through Noct’s hair overwhelms Noct’s brain. “Screw biology,” Noct says bitterly, flicking the choppy, sweat-damp strands out of his eyes, and is it just his imagination or is Ignis watching him with more interest than usual? Nah. He’s probably just calculating how much Noct’s next dental bill’s gonna cost, or internally cackling at his awful haircut. Noct makes an exasperated noise, spits out a hunk of bloody saliva. Without warning, he warps.

He means to pin Ignis between his thighs and lovingly gaze into his eyes. 

Instead, he gets a steel-toed shoe to the royal jewels.

White noise blankets his vision. Noct doubles over, ears buzzing as he gasps for breath, training sword clanging to the ground. Ignis is instantly at his side, daggers sheathed, mouth a flat line. “Can you lay down?” he asks and his voice is a soothing rumble at odds with the pain roiling through Noct. He places one hand on Noct’s sternum, the other at the small of Noct’s back and guides him down. “Gently now. That’s the way.” The contact would’ve warmed him if he wasn’t preoccupied with not throwing up all over Ignis’ dumb face.

Concern flickers in Ignis’ eyes. “I’m going to fetch some ice. Just stay here.”

Noct gives him a black glare. “Wasn’t planning on ditching,” he wheezes. This is the last time he takes Gladio's advice.

Ignis leaves, and Noct just curls up, wondering how disappointed his dad will be when he finds out the Lucis Caelum line’s gonna end with his son.


	2. In which everyone’s an expert, and then there’s Noct.

At least Prompto doesn’t laugh in his face. He takes one look at the chipped tooth and goes, “Gnarly!” but that’s about it. That could be because he’s preoccupied slaying hobgoblins though.

“Too aggressive, my man,” the blonde says between button mashing, tongue poking out as he charges up another special attack, “Iggy’s all about that elegance. You’ve gotta take a softer approach.” He’s perched so close to the edge of the sofa that Noct expects him to topple off any second now.

"I guess." Noct pops the tab of a Jetty’s soda can. “So how can I get him to notice me without resorting to, like, shoving my tongue down his throat?”

Prompto’s nose wrinkles. “Ixnay on the deets, dude.” On screen, his party gets wiped. “Aww, way to throw off my game!”

Noct passes him a consolation soda. “That’s literally the fifth time you’ve died. You should grind more. Or, you know, pay attention to your best friend who’s having a major crisis here.”

“Okay, okay.” Prompto chugs half the can and relinquishes his controller. “This is Ignis we’re talking about, right? He’s a stickler for boundaries and rules and being proper. Like, I’ve seen him ironing your underwear. You’re gonna have to tread gently here.” He drains the rest of his soda before adding, “Or you could just order him to kiss you.”

Noct chokes on his drink. “That is exactly the opposite of what I want.” _He irons my underwear? Sweet Six._

“Well, if you’re going for subtle, how about some good old fashioned flattery? Compliment his clothes, his hair, his smile. Tell him he’s got beautiful eyelashes. Or whatever, I don’t know, you’ll think of something.” Prompto passes over the second controller. “Now can you please join? I can’t beat this elder hobgoblin without your mad spellsword skills.”

Noct snaps out of his daydreams and hits start. “Only for you, Prom.”

Prompto smiles sweetly. “See? Flattery’ll get you everywhere.”

* * *

Noct’s still thinking about the endless praise-worthy aspects of Ignis when the jingle of keys splices through his solo session. Desperately, he yanks his sweatpants up, the photo clutched in his other hand as he tumbles off the couch. Can you blame a guy? Like, he lasted more than a day. Pretty admirable considering. 

Ignis’ voice lilts from the entryway. “Noct? There was no barramundi at the market this morning. I trust sea bass will suffice?”

Heart slamming inside his chest, Noct collides with the edge of the coffee table and scurries for the bedroom. “Uh-huh,” he manages, a little breathlessly, stuffing the photo beneath his pillow.

“Is everything alright?” Ignis asks in his _make-it-good-or-I'm-coming-over-there-in-precisely-ten-seconds_ voice.

Noct hikes his sweats over his hips and peers into the mirror. “Yeah.” Dishevelled hair, blown pupils, dick harder than the Crystal. Great. At least he can take care of his t-shirt. The mysterious purple stain over his left nipple that makes him look like he’s lactating ulwaat berry juice is doing nothing for his attractiveness factor. “You’re early,” he calls as his head pops through the neck of a fresh tee.

The sound of cupboard doors and pots and pans clattering on the bench. “I’d like to attempt the pastries again, this time with jackfruit.”

Noct stares down at his crotch. “Sounds good.” What really sounds good is less jackfruit, more jacking off, but there’s no way he’s game enough to take care of his problem in the conventional way with Ignis right there. Sure, it’s not the first time the guy’s almost sprung him but it’s never happened while Noct was holding incriminating photographic evidence. While Ignis busies himself in the kitchen, Noct wills his hard-on to go away by thinking about that one Crownsguard instructor with the perpetual garlic breath, the one who screamed orders to test a recruit's ability to not pass out in the presence of offensive odours. Failing that, he moves to the homeless guy who reeks of ripe cheese outside the arcade, then his dad, then Luna’s brother, and praise the Six, the thought of Ravus’ naked ass does the trick.

After Noct calms down enough to emerge from his prison of shame, he and Ignis chat about the pastries and the dental appointment Ignis booked and the impending end of year exams. It’s almost peaceful except for the squirming nerves urging Noct to make his move. By the time dessert has cooled and Ignis is pulling out the sea bass fillets from the oven, Noct’s about ready to implode. His heart’s thundering behind his ribcage. His mouth’s drier than a Leide desert. His hands are dripping, definitely dripping, and this is the worst idea on Eos but Noct’s gotta go through with it, he’s just _gotta._ “Hey Specs,” he says. Or tries to say. It comes out as more of a squeak so he has to clear his throat before attempting a second assault. “Specs.” Better. He almost doesn’t sound like an eight-year-old.

“Mm?” Ignis says, preoccupied with removing the baking dish from the oven. This absolutely does not help Noct’s cause, what with the fine view of Ignis’ chinos clinging to his buttocks and all, and when Ignis turns to place the tray atop the bench, Noct jerks upright like a cat caught in a chocochick pen. Ignis has the grace to pretend he doesn’t notice.

_For Bahamut’s sake, you’re gonna rule a nation one day and you’re getting cold feet over **this?** Just do it already! Do it do it do it do—_

“I like your shoes!” Noct blurts.

Ignis’ expression doesn’t waver. Coolly continuing to grind nutmeg into the sizzling dish, he peers at the Prince over the top of his fast fogging glasses. “Thank you, Noct. Next time I’m shopping I can pick up a pair for you, if you like.”

“Oh.” Noct blinks. “Um, okay?”

Ignis removes his glasses, wipes them with a perfectly pressed pocket handkerchief. How he turns the most mundane tasks into a work of art is a mystery. Noct tries and fails not to gawk. “They come in a variety of neutral shades. Did you have a particular colour in mind?” Ignis lifts his glasses up to the light, squinting to make sure they’re clear, and gods, is there a more perfect individual on the planet?

“Green,” Noct says without thinking.

It seems to Noct that Ignis stares at him like he’s denser than a pound cake. “Neutral shades, Noct.”

“Right.” Noct’s voice wavers on the precipice of cracking. “Black then.”

The spectacles slip back on. Ignis smiles, beatific and beautiful. “Excellent choice.”

 _Not swooning_ jumps straight to the top of Noct’s list of accomplishments.

* * *

“A new shirt? Looks good.”  
“Thank you, Noct.”

“Loving the spiky hair, Specs.”  
“Thank you, Noct.”

“Is this a hold up? ‘Cos those guns are smokin’.”  
“Thank you, Noct?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re the perfect guy and anyone’d be lucky to have you? Like, _anyone._ A lord, a lady. A prince.”  
“Thank you, Noct.”

The compliments pile on, and Noct uncovers a startling revelation about his wunderkind strategist.

He is legitimately stupid.

* * *

“Always the same godsdamn response…” Noct slurs to himself, watching Prompto decimate Gladio in _Dance Dance Revolution._ Ordinarily, he’d find solace in the flashing lights and ping-ponging beeps and rigged tests of skill at the arcade but even Prompto’s ridiculous victory pose can’t lift his spirits tonight. How is it possible Ignis is so oblivious? Is Noct really that bad at flirting? Like, he hasn’t had much practice but—

Iris giggles around her lollipop. “Your voice sounds weird.”

Noct sighs. He’s aware of this. He’s been acutely aware of this ever since Ignis passed him a handkerchief and said, “Do try not to dribble. I doubt the envoy from Tenebrae will take well to a salivating prince.” Like it’s Noct’s fault. Half his mouth is numb due to the anaesthetic, which is due to the dentist putting a crown on his chipped tooth, which is due to the failed training-cum-flirting attempt, which is due to the fact that Noctis is in stupid love with his advisor.

So it’s Ignis’ fault really.

“I know,” he drawls, slurping back spit, “Want some advice, Iris? Don’t trust older guys.”

“Why not?”

“’Cos they can’t take a hint.”

Gladio, who’s tagged out to let some other sucker challenge Prompto, slides onto the bench beside them and uses the hem of his tank to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Approximately eleven people swoon. “He’s right, you know. Guys can be pretty dense sometimes. Even if a guy's into you, he can still do a terrible job of showing it.” The Shield is so used to the attention he doesn’t even sniff in his admirers’ direction. Why can’t it be that easy for Noct? He sighs. Like he needed another reminder of how much he sucks.

A faint tinge of pink appears on Iris’ face. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glances Noct’s way. “He should make it more obvious then,” she says.

Noct’s mouth quirks. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

A raucous cheer goes up. Noct swivels in his seat to see some lanky guy claiming an oversized moogle plushie from that crummy fishing game Noct can never beat. He hands his prize to the girl beside him, who throws her arms around his neck and peppers his cheek with kisses. _Good for you, man,_ Noct thinks sullenly.

“Get her a present,” Iris chirps in all her teenage wisdom.

Over Iris’ head, Gladio and Noct exchange a Look.

Gladio shrugs.

Noct’s lips turn up in a lopsided smile. “That all? Sounds easy.”

* * *

It’s not.

Like, what in Bahamut’s name do you get the most put-together guy this side of Lucis? A thousand different things Ignis might like are whirlwinding through Noct’s mind but that operative word – _might –_ leaves wriggle room for catastrophe. What if Noct screws up and makes a royal idiot of himself? Maybe his best friend will point him in the right direction.

When he asks though Prompto just levels him with a withering look and goes, “Dude,” in such a judgmental tone that Ramuh himself would flinch. In the background, an alien explodes out of a scientist’s chest. Forgoing any attempt at self-defence, Noct just stuffs a handful of popcorn in his mouth, to which Prompto rolls his eyes and says, “Also, you should probably stop leaving that out in the open.” He points at the blasphemous photo, which Noct's left sprawled on the couch with no apologies. Suitably chagrined, he swallows whatever’s left of his pride (read: barely a mouthful) and puts the photo somewhere else, and the following morning he starts querying people who aren’t too close to the whole pitiful situation.

 _“That_ guy? _”_ Nyx says in a way that means he knows Noct’s sparring in a higher weapons tier, “Try poetry. Most guys pretend they’re not into it but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him carting around a few classics.”

“Chocolates,” says Libertus, “Everyone likes chocolates.”

“Flowers,” says Clarus, “He mentioned the décor of his office was rather dreary.”

“Teddy bears,” says Drautos but he doesn’t elaborate, just continues watching the council members filing in with his beady, beady eyes.

“If you want my advice, don’t overcomplicate things. A direct approach works best,” Cor counsels, wiping down his katana. A bunch of Crownsguard recruits are scattered around him, clutching various battered body parts. Noct doesn’t envy them. “Square up and meet your target head on, don’t show any weakness and once you’re there, go in for the kill.” The Immortal’s face is so stony that Noct’s not sure if he’s talking about a potential lover or a daemon. He takes care not to trip over the vanquished as he backs away – slowly – without breaking eye contact.

It’s official. Noct’s on his own.

In the end, he resorts to dredging up the most obscure 700-page tome on some lost chapter of Solheim history from the dusty depths of the Citadel library, which he gets a clerk to transcribe. When it’s finally finished, resplendent in its gold leaf embossed cover, Noct wastes no time. Heart tripping, he heads up to Ignis’ office.

A mountain range of neatly piled documents greets him when he pokes his head inside the doorway. At first, Noct suspects Ignis is off on a coffee run but then a quiet curse drifts up from behind the papers, and when Noct moves closer he finds Ignis brandishing correction tape with more force than is strictly necessary. A twang of pity hits Noct’s chest. He’s just resolved to sneak away and try again later when Ignis immobilises him with his laser gaze.

“Noct,” he greets as he shuffles aside whatever boring by-law he’s scrutinising. He sounds like Prompto does midway through exams. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Maybe this isn’t the time but then again, maybe Ignis will welcome the distraction. Noct plonks the book on the only free spot on Ignis’ desk, steps back and folds his arms. “Got something for you.”

Ignis’ face is impossible to read. He flips open the cover and scans the title before starting on the foreword. The moments tick by, Ignis’ eyebrows creeping closer and closer together until he peers up, looking as close to crestfallen as Noct’s ever seen him. “The Solheim Rennaisance? I don’t believe I’ve read this,” he admits, every word like chewing adamantite. “I’m sorry, Noct. If you were seeking a tutor for a history assignment perhaps the head librarian is a better candidate.”

Noct blanches. “No, that’s not— I mean, I was thinking maybe we could go over it together or…” Embarrassment building, he lets the remainder of his sentence dangle.

Ignis smooths a hand over the book cover, considering. “I’ll need time to properly study it, of course,” he mutters mostly to himself. He rubs the spot between his eyes and says, louder, “Can we postpone our discussion until dinner?”

 _“_ As in _tonight?”_ Noct’s eyes boggle. How the hell does Ignis expect to slog through that entire book in less than a day?

“Earlier then,” Ignis says, misreading Noct’s horror. “I’m sure I can squeeze in a little light reading. Or if you want to take care of this straight away, I'm confident the head librarian can offer more immediate assistance.”

“Iggy…” There’s only one way he can salvage this situation. With his heart racing faster than a chocobo on sylkis greens, Noct takes a deep breath. “I don’t want the head librarian. And I don’t want Gladio or Prompto or any of those other guys. I want you.”

Beat.

Noct cracks an eye open, this close to a coronary. Ignis’ own eyes are hidden behind the glint of glasses. He says, “A touching sentiment but there’s no need to soften the blow, Highness.” Oh no. “Truly, I’m more disappointed about my lack of Solheim knowledge than anyone else.”

No. No no, this is not at all how Noct pictured it.

“Ignis, I—”

“I really must attend to this paperwork, Highness. If you make a start on your essay I’ll proof it later on.”

Noct gets that swooping sensation in his stomach that’s normally reserved for warping. _Cockblocked. Cockblocked by my own crush. How is that even possible?_ Hewants to correct Ignis but judging by the irritation simmering beneath the surface maybe he should just wear this one. There were worse things to contend with than a fake assignment. Besides, there’s no arguing with Ignis when he’s in Official Advisor mode. A heavy sigh rushes from Noct's lips. “Right...”

It takes every iota of Noct’s willpower to resist dumping his royal duties in lieu of living out his remaining days in the depths of the Crestholm Channels, far away from any Ignis Scientias who probably think of him as primordial slime. Instead, he gathers his pinprick of self-respect and drags his feet all the way home, mentally dragging himself the entire time.

_Just what the hell am I gonna do now?_


	3. In which Ignis moonlights as a common household object.

“Perhaps you need to make your overtures more… overt,” Luna says, the melodic quality of her voice undiminished over the video chat.

Noct drags his hand over his face, blinks blearily. In the bottom right hand corner of his laptop the clock reads 12:31AM. On the desk beside him, out of Luna’s line of sight, sits the horrid photo. Call it a masochistic streak but Noct derives some morbid enjoyment from admiring what he’s probably never gonna have. Every fibre of his being wants to crawl beneath his blankets and sleep the remainder of his life away but his brain won’t stop replaying The Incident, Ignis and his unimpressed frown imprinted on Noct’s brain. He needs a long bath. He needs an eight hour King's Knight session. He needs a drink. He stares at his mess of a word document, filled with broken ramblings on an ancient civilization he couldn’t give two shits about. In the other window, his internet browser’s bursting with so many open tabs the titles are indiscernible: The easiest wa—; Ten steps to m—; Help, my boyfr—.

There are other, more morbid phrases but Noct’s not seriously entertaining anything dramatic. Not really.

“Guess I could always send him a written invitation,” Noct says, zero inflection, closing the tab on how to fake your own death.

A thoughtful expression graces Luna’s face. Noct grimaces. Gods, _should_ he send Ignis a written invitation? “You know,” he says, “I don’t think he’d be interested right now.” Or ever. “He’s really busy. Besides, last time we talked about it I kinda upset him.” Noct had texted him to say don’t bother coming over, he was gonna work on the essay with Prompto (and if Noct had slept through the afternoon and most of the evening too, Ignis didn’t need to know about it.)

(Ignis still sent him a bunch of cliff notes. The guy's a machine.)

“It sounds like an apology is in order,” Luna tells him, not unkindly.

“I know.”

“That means you must exert some effort. A mumbled sorry or, gods forbid, an emoji-laden text message will not do.”

“I _know,”_ he huffs, running his fingers through his hair, wondering how he can make it up to Ignis. That teahouse near the lake might be the way to go. The surrounding maple trees should be turning by now, which always makes a pretty picture, and if tomalley-filled dumplings can’t win Ignis over, nothing will.

Luna’s shoulders move in a suppressed sigh. “And I know _you,_ Noctis Lucis Caelum. Avoidance is your specialty. Promise me you’ll make things right with him.”

He lifts a hand like he’s taking a solemn oath. “I want to. It’s just… He’s just…” Intimidating. Smart. Perfect. Luna doesn’t back down, just stares at him with her piercing gaze. Despite it all, he has to admire his friend’s resolve.

“Don’t worry,” he assures her, “I will.” 

* * *

“Caw, kids! Who’s up for a Kenny Crow Special?”

With dignified aplomb, Ignis accepts the tray from the overgrown foam bird. For his part, Noct prays for Titan to crack the earth beneath him and swallow him up along with his too-oily fries, overcooked patty and the bunch of noisy freshmen at the opposite table. Why had Ignis suggested this place anyway? More importantly, what the hell was Noct smoking when he agreed on bringing a gifted gourmand to a fast food outlet? Noctis Loser Caelum, making terrible choices since forever. Was he dropped on his head as a child? Did they lobotomise him at birth? How did the Six even make him?

“Don’t do that,” Ignis says without looking. Noct removes the thumbnail he hadn’t realised he’d been gnawing from between his teeth. “And please don’t be upset. You weren’t to know they were closed for renovations.”

Soon as he’s king, Noct’s gonna make it illegal for Ignis’ favourite restaurants to shut down. He feels pretty silly, patronising a diner with his ironed shirt and cologne and smart jacket and hair that took twice as long to style (and got wrecked the moment he stepped into the blustery Insomnian streets). He’s even wearing the pinchy black dress shoes Ignis bought, for godssake. He tries to protest but then Ignis gives him a Soft SmileTM and all Noct’s expertise in beating himself up suddenly vanishes.

“Truth be told, I’m glad to be here. Crow’s Nest holds a special place in my heart,” Ignis says.

Noct takes a steadying sip of triple choc malted thickshake as he ponders this, appraising the diner’s comfortably worn interior. The nostalgia factor flings him back to uncomplicated days when his biggest concern was what toy he’d get in his meal pack, or later, when Ignis was in his final year of study and consuming more Cup Noodles than Gladio. Ignis was an excellent student and it wasn’t all down to his natural acuity. A private smile spreads on Noct’s face at the memory of Ignis, floppy-haired and blurry-eyed, ink smears spattered across his nose. Really, Noct shouldn’t be so flighty around somebody he’s known since forever. It’s just Ignis. Just Ignis, who used to sneak out of stuffy functions with him for snowball fights, who helped smuggle stray kittens into the royal Citadel chambers, who regularly slaughters him in _Super Smash Bros._ as Jigglypuff and chuckles maniacally about it. Ignis, who would go to the ends of the world for him. Ignis, who knows Noct better than Noct knows himself.

His ass is pretty fine too but that’s just a happy coincidence.

“Yeah…” he says into his drink. “Still, I wanted to thank you properly for the Solheim thing. You seemed pretty swamped the other day.”

Something warm glimmers in Ignis’ gaze. “How thoughtful,” he murmurs before ducking his head, knife and fork fitted delicately between his slender digits. No matter how many times Noct sees this, it still gives him a fluttering feeling in his stomach, something he used to chalk up to second-hand embarrassment. Seriously, who uses cutlery to carve up a Kenny Crow special? “You needn’t worry about all that though. Your well-being is my top priority.”

“Yeah, but, you’ve got your job and… stuff.” Noct gestures vaguely.

Ignis lays down his cutlery and meets Noct’s gaze. “You _are_ my job, Noctis. You should never feel like an imposition.”

Ouch. “Yeah but,” Noct says again as he pilfers a fry from Ignis' plate, trying not to take the remark personally, “I feel like, like I was taking advantage of you or something, and that’s not how I meant it at all. I mean, friends don’t do that, right?”

Ignis swallows. Noct’s gaze hones in on the swathe of ivory skin at Ignis’ throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “Friends,” Ignis repeats, “Of course.”

Fuck. Fuckity fucking flying fuck.

What has Noct done?

* * *

Noct wants to die. He wants to kneel before the Kings of Yore and beg them to take him now. At the very least, he wants to rewind time and actually pay attention during courtship lessons. Of course, he can do none of those things. He can’t even run a warm bath because the gas is out and his apartment’s cold enough to freeze off the Glacian’s tits. Despite the late hour, he texts Ignis and tries his best not to act desperate when he doesn’t get an immediate reply. If his teeth keep chattering like this though he’s gonna need another dental appointment. So he calls. No other reason. Certainly nothing as sappy as wanting to hear the sound of Ignis’ voice.

The phone rings out. Noct listens to Ignis’ voicemail message then kills the call. He sucks in his bottom lip and chews, turning his phone over in his hand. He calls again just in case.

Ignis answers instantly. “Noct?” He sounds flustered, like he’s had to rush for a phone hidden beneath reams of documents.

“Hey Specs, hope I didn’t wake you. I think the heating’s out. Reckon you can do something about it?”

Anyone else would probably balk but Ignis doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course. I’ll find somebody to rectify the problem right away.”

Noct wonders how he’d feel if some rich brat demanded he fix his heating at 11:45PM. “That’s okay,” he says, “It’s late. In the morning’s fine.”

“Okay.” A pause then, “Was there anything else?”

 _Should I?_ There are countless reasons to stop while his dignity’s not bruised beyond repair but Ignis already thinks they’re just friends. Time for drastic measures. Before he can lose his nerve, Noct blurts, “Can you come over?”

Another pause, this one drawn out like a Monday morning council meeting.

“I’m _really_ cold,” Noct says.

Ignis says nothing. Just when Noct’s about to give up, three small syllables drift over the line: “Certainly.”

When Ignis appears at the threshold of Noct’s bedroom wearing the same suit he’d had on yesterday, hair ruffled and eyes hazy, Noct’s heart stutters. The Prince tosses back the covers and pads over, offers a murmured greeting. He only lingers a little as he disengages Ignis’ fingers from around his briefcase and sets it by the wardrobe. “What gives?”

Ignis clears his throat. “I thought I’d occupy myself with a little paperwork while you slept.”

“At midnight?” Noct teases. This close, he can feel the heat radiating off Ignis’ body.

Ignis’ cheeks darken in the half-light. He picks at an imaginary piece of lint on his lapel. “You’ve never complained about my making your life easier before.”

“Snippy,” Noct observes, full of fondness, to which Ignis has no rebuttal. Ignis looks good cloaked in moonlight. Noct brushes back the little fuzzy strands of hair tumbled across his advisor’s forehead.

Gently, Ignis’ hand curls around Noct’s wrist. “I’m sure you didn’t bring me here just to criticise my workaholic tendencies,” he says, and Noct feels his low voice reverberate in his solar plexus. “How can I be of service, Highness?”

Oh. _Oh._

Noct averts his gaze, hoping Ignis won’t notice the rising blush in his cheeks. Maybe Ignis wasn’t that clueless after all. Or maybe Noct’s just seeing what he wants to see. Yeah, that's gotta be it. “Just,” Noct flounders, casting his gaze around for inspiration but there’s only Ignis with his moonbeams falling tentatively across his cheeks. “Just sleep with me.” At Ignis’ quiet intake of breath, he clarifies, “In the same bed, like we used to. I’m freezing my balls off here.”

“They’ve taken quite a beating lately,” Ignis says as he releases Noct’s wrist, and his voice sounds far away, like he’s skimming the edge of dangerous wordplay, “I know it's nippy but your father already thinks I mollycoddle you too much. He wouldn't approve of my duties expanding in that sort of direction. I’ll fetch some extra blankets instead.”

“I already raided the cupboard.”

“I haven’t any sleepwear.”

 _“I_ haven't any objections."

Ignis doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he rummages through the drawers and tugs out a pair of Noct’s pyjamas. What Noct’s expecting is a crisp order followed by Ignis decking him out in double layers. What he gets is wordless acquiescence in the form of Ignis beginning to loosen his tie.

Noct’s breath hitches. He’s totally dreaming. Right?

At some point between the third and fourth button Ignis coaxes open on his shirt, reality hits Noct with all the force of a behemoth’s charge. When he finally stops being distracted by Ignis’ nimble fingers, he burrows back under the bed covers, rucking them over his shoulders so Ignis won’t notice how his breathing’s picked up. Some more soft rustling followed by the light flicking off in the other room and the bed dipping, and Noct’s brain starts chanting _holy shit holy shit holy shit._

They lie there for what feels like an eon, Noct agonising over whether Ignis is cool with this arrangement or whether he’ll murder Noct in his sleep. The vacant space between them might as well be a galaxy for all the difference it makes, Noct’s heart primed to burst out of his chest just like that poor scientist in that alien movie the other week. Judging from the heavy silence and lack of movement beside him, Ignis isn’t doing much better. Uncertainty doesn’t sit right on a guy who has the answers to everything from how far away is the closest star (4.3 light years) to how long do you microwave marshmallows (you don’t) and this, coupled with the words  _more overt,_  rekindles Noct’s courage.

“You’re a lousy hot water bottle,” he grumbles, finding Ignis’ hand in the dark. With a definitive tug, he rolls them both over (Ignis mutters something about propriety). When Noct wriggles backwards so they’re flush against each other, Ignis’ entire body turns more rigid than a cactuar and twice as prickly. Still, he makes no attempt at escaping and Noct allows himself a small, private smirk. Heat undulates off Ignis; Noct laps it up. When it becomes evident Ignis isn’t going to relax any time soon, Noct takes pity on him and loosens his hold. To his surprise though Ignis doesn’t shift. 

The sky's long changed from inky black to silver-grey by the time he realises this probably isn’t what Luna had in mind. Ignis' palm pressed against his heart is all Noct's got left though. And honestly?

Right now, it's enough.


	4. In which Noct and Ignis get what they deserve.

There’s that foggy moment between wakefulness and slumber where time trips over itself and all sorts of impossibilities might happen. Noct’s impossibility is playing little spoon to Ignis’ big one, a more PG rated dream than his usual fare. A whisper of a sigh escapes his lips before he realises he’s not toasty warm like he should be. Gathering the blankets beneath his chin, he chases his fantasy.

The scent of Ignis’ deodorant on Noct’s sheets, an addition that edges too far towards realism, is what drags him into reality. Ignis was here. Reluctantly, perhaps. Disapprovingly, most likely. But he was here nonetheless. Or had been, because when Noct’s eyes open, he’s greeted by a vacant pillow. For the first time in his entire life, Noct wishes he’d never fallen asleep. If Ignis ran away, Noct must’ve really pissed him off. Or weirded him out. Or whatever, what difference does it make? On a scale of 1 to that time Gladio found his spank bank, he wonders how awkward his next encounter with Ignis is gonna be.

Wait.

The door to his ensuite is closed, which is a thing that never happens because like he can be bothered with that sort of unnecessary energy expense, and… Noct cants his head. Yeah, that’s definitely the shower. He scrubs grit from the corners of his eyes, trying to process everything. Despite the cold, he slides out of bed and over to the door, pressing his ear to the surface.

He’s still hovering when the door nudges open. Ignis steps out, adorned in water droplets, a towel slung around his waist. When he catches sight of Noct, his lips tumble open. "You're awake," Ignis states, which is blatantly obvious, which means it's not something Ignis would normally bother to mention. 

Noct cards a hand through his bed hair, tries not to stare. "Yup." He feels so dirty next to Ignis, who's giving off a pine forest crisp scent that means he used Noct's shampoo. Noct’s fingers twitch, itching to play with that damp hair or press up against those nicely defined abs. It was strange, knowing he’d been snugged up against those abs. Noct hopes Ignis won’t notice how his eyes are bugging like twin Discs of Cauthess.

He seems preoccupied though, looking over Noct’s shoulder or towards the door or… anywhere that’s not Noct really. A shiver runs up Noct’s spine. A singular water droplet trickles down Ignis' nose. Noct wonders if this is why people sneak out the morning after, which is dumb considering they’d barely cuddled. Like, Noct’s pretty sure Ignis would’ve erected a mini Wall between them if the option had presented itself. 

"I was just..." Ignis' gaze falls on the bedside table. Carefully, he sidesteps Noct and retrieves his glasses, looking marginally more comfortable after sliding them back on.

Noct lifts his eyebrows. The words come before he can rein them in, "Taking a cold shower?"

Smooth as a kupoberry cheesecake, Ignis says, "I've a meeting. No time to get back to the Citadel to freshen up." It would’ve worked too but Noct doesn’t miss the way the tips of Ignis’ ears turn rosy. More importantly, the Council doesn't meet on Saturdays. Like he’s inside Noct’s head, Ignis adds, “A meeting with Gladio. We’d had a mind to go clothes shopping for the end of year gala.”

“Oh.” Guess he really was just seeing what he wanted to see.

“I’d best be off,” Ignis says, ducking back into the bathroom. He leaves the door ajar, which is totally unfair, and Noct’s gotta wrestle with his hormones for the entirety of Ignis’ preening routine. “Let me know if you need anything,” Ignis says when he re-emerges, spikey-haired and prepared for business, “Somebody will be over to fix the heating by noon.”

“Coffee first?”

“We both know Gladiolus isn’t the most patient of men,” Ignis replies distractedly, tapping out a text message, probably to the Shield himself. Blaming Noctis for his tardiness, probably.

“Fine. You’ll be over for dinner though, right?”

“I suppose,” Ignis tells the spot over Noct’s shoulder, “It depends how urgent these papers are.”

“Okay,” Noct says, feeling like he’s talking to Ignis from the other side of the ocean.

When Ignis leaves, the urge to wallow crashes over Noct like a Leviathan-proportioned tidal wave. He knows he’ll just feel even shittier if he gives in. Despite the early hour, he knows he’s not going to get anymore sleep so he drags himself into the bathroom. If Ignis does show up later, Noct should probably not still be in his pyjamas.

And that’s when he sees it.

It’s sitting by the sink. Noct’s walked past it so many times he’s stopped registering it but now. Now.

The photo of Ignis’ ass stands out like a moogle’s pompom, bright and obvious and awful.

“Shit,” Noct tells the otherwise empty apartment. Never has the sight of his advisor’s derriere inspired such despair. Why, why, _why_ had he left it out in the open? A voice that sounds suspiciously like Prompto’s singsongs through Noct’s mind: _Told you so!_

No time to waste. Noct grits his teeth and fires off a text to Gladio: **iggy with u today?**

Gladio replies: **Depends. Lemme guess, you finally told him?**

Noct tries waiting Gladio out but the Shield isn’t any more forthcoming. When it comes to torturing his boss, Gladio has all the patience in the world. Resigned, Noct sends: **he stayed over last night.** Halfway through the full explanation, his phone starts ringing. Prepared for the worst, Noct answers. Gladio’s voice bellows down the line:

_“You lost your V card!”_

Noct winces, jerking the phone away from his ear. “Six, Gladio, it’s not what you’re thinking. If you had, like, a _speck_ of patience—”

_“Less complaining, more explaining.”_

“Something’s wrong with my heating so I asked Specs to help out.”

_“What, by sucking your dick?”_

“No! He just… hugged me…”

A low whistle. _“With both his arms? Good job, killer.”_

“Look, could you just tell me: is he or isn’t he?”

Gladio huffs. _“Course not. First Saturday of the month is brother-sister day.”_

“About time.”

_“Noct, what's—?”_

Noct thumbs off the call, already shrugging into the nearest clothes. Time to convince a guy who starches his socks that a photo of his butt’s no big deal.

* * *

He checks all the usual places: the office, the training yard, the Citadel kitchens where Ignis stress bakes. He texts his entire address book, even the embarrassing people. When this doesn’t work, Noct diverges towards the sentimental: the art gallery where Prompto dragged them and they accidentally stumbled into a nude exhibition; the rocky overlook where they stargazed when they were kids; the café where Noct pretended to like espresso when they weren’t. It’s late afternoon by this point, and Noct still hasn’t eaten so he orders a slice of red velvet and sits in the window on the off chance Ignis might appear. The loud chitchat batters him as he pokes at his cake. Maybe he should call? It’s not the first time he’s had this thought. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have over the phone though, and who’s he kidding, Ignis probably won’t answer anyway.

 _Where could he be? Think, dipshit, think._ It’s too noisy for that though so Noct tosses some cash on the table and heads to the park across the road. The sky’s ominously grey, Noct hugging his jacket as he hurries to his favourite fishing spot on the far side of the lake where bare cherry trees stand guard, hoping the secluded setting will bring him clarity. When he spies the familiar lithe silhouette at the water’s edge, Noct doesn’t know whether to sigh with relief or steel himself with a deep inhale so he goes with holding his breath. Ignis must be chilled without a proper overcoat. It doesn’t seem to bother him or perhaps it doesn’t register: he’s completely absorbed in skipping stones across the lake. Noct just watches, drawn by the graceful curve of Ignis’ neck, the lines of his wrists. _No wonder I’m in love with him,_ Noct thinks, at a complete loss for words. He settles on a quiet, “Hey Specs.”

Ignis pauses. “Noct.” He skims another stone.

“So… I guess there’s no chance you didn’t see that photo, huh.”

No answer.

“It wasn’t my idea, I swear. Blame Gladio and Prompto and their shitty sense of humour.”

“You needn’t explain,” Ignis says, and Noct almost thinks that’s that. But then Ignis heaves a weighted sigh and adds, “Even if it was your fault, you needn’t seek my absolution. I could never blame you for anything, Noct.”

That wasn’t fair. Noct stares at his bootlaces, a raindrop splashing onto his nose. He clenches his fists. Here goes everything. “Just because it wasn’t my idea doesn’t mean I… didn’t… like it.”

Finally, Ignis turns around. This is it. This is the part where Noct gets chewed out and chopped up and never sees Ignis again. Here it comes. Ignis is opening his mouth. He’s taking a breath. He’s saying—

“I know.”

Noct stares. And stares. And stares.

“Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Noct.”

Noct’s mouth drops open in a decent parody of a Lucian catfish. When he remembers how to talk again, he says, “How long? How long have you known?”

Ignis waves a hand airily. “Oh, sometime between ‘you’re the kind of perfectly proportioned person artists use for anatomy studies’ and ‘sleep with me’.”

It starts as a hairline fracture that quickly deepens to a fissure and in a heartbeat, Noct’s composure shatters. All this time, he’d been dealing because he’d thought Ignis was clueless. The reality is so, so much worse. Everything he’d thought to say flies away, shattered into a million tiny pieces because Ignis knew but he didn’t reciprocate, and Noct feels the back of his throat closing up, the hot prickle of emotion in his eyes, the impersonal touch of gloved hands on his skin. No, he can’t deal with this, this pity party.

Through Noct’s flurrying thoughts, Ignis says, “Go ahead.” This is when Noct registers the weight pressed into his hand.

It’s Ignis’ phone. Noct swallows his devastation, cups his hand over the device to protect it from the misting rain and glances down. A photo gallery’s on the screen. Puzzled, he starts swiping. This is what he sees:

Sleeping Noct. Shirtless Noct. Sore loser Noct. Freshly showered Noct. Half his face full of cheez-its Noct. He flicks and flicks and flicks, the tears receding as it becomes apparent these photos are always a variant of the same subject. He thumbs back to the gallery overview and almost loses his grip. One thousand, three hundred and seventy-nine items.

What does it _mean?_

Ignis fiddles with his cuffs. “Prompto begged me to install chocochat because, I quote, ‘I need at least one person in my life that I can have an intelligent discussion with’. And lo, the floodgates were opened.”

“All these… are from Prompto?”

“Not quite. The more dubious ones are from your Shield. Remember when you upped your weights training regime and Gladio took all those ‘progress shots’? I hadn’t planned on showing you but turnabout’s fair play. Delete them if you wish. I should have done it the moment I received them.”

“Why didn’t you?” Noct asks, genuinely curious.

Ignis flushes. “I am not an indulgent man, Noct, but even I have the occasional lapse.”

If Noct’s brain was working properly he might’ve thought, _You call one thousand, three hundred and seventy-nine **occasional**? _ Instead, he turns over Ignis’ hand, wraps his long fingers around the phone and presses it to Ignis’ chest. The open, questing look Ignis offers makes Noct’s heart ping. “They’re good photos,” Noct says with a shrug.

Tentatively, Ignis pockets the phone. “Excellent, in fact. You are rather photogenic.” Noct’s stomach flips; Ignis draws away, bumps his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You see the issue, Highness? I’m no better at boundaries than you. Clearly, I’m unable to keep my emotions in check so there’s only one viable option left. I must resign.” He barrels straight over Noct’s protest. “Better than staying on until your father finds out and has me forcefully removed.”

 _“That’s_ what you’re worried about? Not if I’ve been doing other seedy stuff? Not how I… feel? You’re just worried about my _dad?”_ It sounds like such a normal person problem that Noct almost laughs.

Ignis glances away, swipes the raindrops off his cheeks where a faint blush is rising. “I’m worried about _the king_. I can’t be expected to give impartial advice when I become giddy with the mere thought of you.” The last is muttered against Noct’s ear as Ignis brushes past.

Noct’s eyes widen, heart fluttering like a diving daggerquill. Ignis… likes him? Ignis likes him _._ Fucking Ignis Scientia likes him and _he’s letting him get away._

Like hell!

Noct grabs his advisor by the pinky finger. “Ignis.”

Ignis keeps his eyes trained on the ground. “Don’t… make this harder than it is, Highness.”

Something inside Noct switches over then, like he’s found a secret treasure trove where kingly demeanours hibernate. “Don’t be dramatic. Cut the Highness crap and look at this already.” He yanks his phone out of his back pocket and flicks through his inbox until he comes up gold. Ignis looks like he’s debating ignoring the entreaty but then Noct’s shoving the screen beneath the guy’s nose, looking carefully for the moment of comprehension. When Ignis mouths the words, Noct’s mentally reading along with him:

 **Noct:** hey dad you seen ignis?  
**Dad:** I’m afraid not.  
**Dad:** Don’t tell me you broke his heart. I will disown you, royal lineage be damned.

“He knows,” Ignis breathes.

Noct gives a dark chuckle. “Iggy, literally everyone knows.”

The skies open, punctuating the scandalised shock that springs onto Ignis’ face, and Noct can’t help it: he erupts in peals of laughter. Ignis’ only response is a raised eyebrow, which looks doubly ridiculous considering his sagging hair and squelchy clothing. The effect’s ruined completely by the way his mouth keeps quirking.

Noct smiles, easy as dawnbreak. “I love you, Ignis. I’m in love with you.” And he leans forward and kisses him.

As far as first kisses go, it’s pretty sweet, even with the water snaking down to the small of Noct's back, Ignis’ lips rain-slick and cool against Noct’s chapped ones. Ignis grabs Noct’s shoulders like he’s warring with himself, unsure whether to shove Noct away or drag him into his arms. Lightning crackling in his veins, Noct makes the decision himself, claiming a handful of rain-spattered hair and nudging Ignis closer. His whole body’s shaking, nerve ends vibrating at the exact frequency of Ignis' stifled moan as he fits them together, connecting as many dots as possible and gods _damn_ , if Noct had known kissing could be this good he would’ve gotten over himself long ago.

When they finally come up for air, Noct presses their foreheads together and whispers, “So there’s no room for ambiguity.” His lips are tingling. Ignis brushes them with his fingertips, gazing at Noct with quiet awe. Noct feels himself pleasantly warming under the attention. “Nothing to say? I figured you’d have some constructive criticism at least,” he teases.

Ignis’ eyes light up. "Only that I love you too." Firecracker quick, he plants a kiss on the Prince’s cheek, snagging a selfie in the process. “For the history books."

Noct’s smile turns devious. “For your collection, you mean.” (Ignis flusters in denial.) “Honestly, I thought photos would be more Prom’s thing. A guy who wears suspenders should be into kinkier shit.”

Ignis shakes his head. “Let’s get you home and wash that filthy mouth of yours out, shall we?”

“That’s more like it,” Noct grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are! I had such a blast writing this one. Many thanks to wildcursive for letting me explore these dumb dorks getting together. We probably won't get a Brotherhood era Episode Ignoct any time soon so this is my attempt at filling the void lmao. 
> 
> Thanks to everybody for reading, kudos-ing, commenting! You guys give me life. <3


End file.
